


you wrote i love yous on my palm without even touching them

by pusa



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Roommates, Their Apartment is Haunted, character: apartment ghost, shes everything to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:09:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24539776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pusa/pseuds/pusa
Summary: It happens, Kiyoomi realizes with a start, one day, right after training, and his phone vibrates inside his gym bag. It’s a text from Wakatoshi.I am starting to think that i might get possessed by our living room ghost. I think she likes the song ‘Plastic Love’ a bit too much.And then, another notification.It is my turn to buy our cleaning supplies, by the way. I will be passing by the grocery later.And Kiyoomi realizes, oh fuck. Oh shit.
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 37
Kudos: 255





	you wrote i love yous on my palm without even touching them

**Author's Note:**

> happy pride. also i wasnt kidding abt the apartment is haunted thingy , i missed writing horror so be wary there isnt anything graphic i think

Kiyoomi knows his stance on luckiness and fate; has spent some countless times looking at his nails, deep in thought, thinking of his privilege and how he’s lucky to have everything, or anything, in his life. Kiyoomi has accepted his fate, had measured the lines of luckiness and growth, luckiness and destiny.

So, really, Kiyoomi shouldn’t be surprised when Motoya messages him one day, telling him about potential roommates and sending Words docs upon Word docs titled **ROOMMATE #_ FOR KIYOOMI**.

Still, Kiyoomi still looks at the sky in disdain and disgust.

Kiyoomi doesn’t understand how his brain still registers to trust Motoya, yet it does. And Kiyoomi should practice on distrusting Motoya and keeping his mouth shut whenever he’s around him.

Oh, wait, we haven’t been telling the story properly. All right, well:

So. To make the long story short: Kiyoomi is alone (and a bit lonely) in his big, Tokyo apartment. (Also, rent is expensive. Tokyo is expensive). He might’ve slipped to Motoya that he might (keyword: _might_ ) look for a roommate, yet he’s too busy and, maybe, a little lazy, to find one. And coincidentally, and to Kiyoomi’s luck, Motoya is friends with everyone on Facebook and has decided to send a group message about Sakusa Kiyoomi and needing a roommate.

Kiyoomi is tired of reading Word documents and how someone can keep quiet of team strategies and other useless stuff. And he’s only read one document.

(We gently send a quick _good luck_ and _you’re dead_ to the studio. Sakusa Kiyoomi does not have all the patience.)

The plan kind of backfires, or maybe the universe deserves to give Kiyoomi a basket full of luck.

(Kiyoomi doesn’t really want to believe in the universe—wants to keep everything a little neutral in case everything jinxes itself.)

(That is a lie. Kiyoomi believes in the universe, believes in lucks and superstitions a bit too much. No one must absolutely know.)

Here is what happens:

Sakusa Kiyoomi is at the local grocery late at night, to avoid other people and to have a peaceful grocery trip. He’s comfortable and safe in his own bubble, hands delicately touching the sanitized bars of his cart, eyes focused and clear on the array of disinfectant sprays in front of him. He’s been staring for five minutes.

He’s made up his mind.

Kiyoomi doesn’t hear the footsteps, and doesn’t really care, if he were being honest. He reaches out to the disinfectant spray he intends to get.

Another hand reaches out.

It happens a bit too fast: Kiyoomi pulling his hand back quickly and turning his head to the right he almost experiences whiplash. Oh.

Ushijima Wakatoshi’s looking at him with raised brows.

Kiyoomi stares.

 _Oh_.

“Sorry,” he mumbles out instead, suddenly feeling like he wants to leave. “You can take it, it’s okay.”

“No,” Wakatoshi speaks out then, just as Kiyoomi is about to turn around and leave. His voice is rough and low, and it makes Kiyoomi tilt his head in curiosity at him. “Sakusa-san.”

“Kiyoomi,” he corrects him and almost raises a brow at him. He’s been calling him Wakatoshi-kun for years now! Gosh.

“Ah,” Wakatoshi says, looking down, as if in deep thought then nods slightly. “Kiyomi-san, I hear you’re needing a roommate.”

Kiyoomi thinks that this is how everything shatters and goes wrong.

“Motoya,” Kiyoomi mutters angrily, glaring at the innocent disinfectant sprays, and he doesn’t notice the soft and amused smile Wakatoshi gives him. “I am, but I’m still not sure, Wakatoshi-kun.”

Kiyoomi watches as Wakatoshi’s face drops and there’s this feeling inside him—an urge to fix it, for some reason.

(Kiyoomi doesn’t blame the universe for this, nope.)

“I see,” Wakatoshi nods at him then there’s a frown on his face. “I’m sorry for troubling you then, Kiyoomi-san.”

“Wait,” Kiyoomi starts to say when Wakatoshi begins to leave and he pauses.

Wait…what?

Kiyoomi, you’re in too deep.

Wakatoshi turns to him. Kiyoomi’s breath against his mask is warm. He blinks.

“If you want,” Kiyoomi starts to say and hopes Lady Luck is on his side. “We can meet tomorrow. I might consider.”

Wakatoshi’s smile makes Kiyomi want to stare at it for a little bit longer.

Here is what happens next:

Ushijima Wakatoshi passes the test. Kiyoomi wants to say he’s surprised, but really, he’s not.

Trusting Wakatoshi a little bit, Kiyoomi invites him to his apartment. He’d just cleaned the whole apartment earlier, now standing by the front door and looking around. The smell of bleach and disinfectant spray is still strong yet familiar and Kiyoomi heaves out a small sigh of relief. He looks at the clock on the wall beside him. He has two hours left.

Kiyoomi spends almost thirty minutes taking a shower and practicing what he’d say. He takes another thirty minutes debating on what he’d wear. He picks an oversized mustard yellow sweater and sweatpants. Kiyoomi will not admit but he’d also spent almost ten minutes playing around with his hair.

(Kiyoomi did. He spent five minutes debating if he should slick it back or not. Are they curlier than usual? Should he just wear a cap?)

Kiyoomi stares at his reflection on his squeaky-clean mirror and thinks. He thinks of the pros and cons.

Pros:

  1. Ushijima Wakatoshi is someone Sakusa Kiyoomi has known for years
  2. Ushijima Wakatoshi is simple, quiet, clean, and neat
  3. Ushijima Wakatoshi folds his pocket hankie with the damp side in



Cons:

  1. Sakusa Kiyoomi has thought of Ushijima Wakatoshi a bit too much, in the past few years



Ah.

This is going to be a bit hard.

Thirty minutes before their designated time, Kiyoomi’s apartment doorbell rings. He widens his eyes and sits up a little taller from where he’s sitting on the couch. He likes to pretend that his heart doesn’t do jumping jacks inside his chest.

Wakatoshi’s dressed casually, and Kiyoomi can make out the Schweiden Adlers logo on the jacket he’s wearing. It fits and suits him a little too well. He meets Wakatoshi’s eyes and he nods a little. Wakatoshi nods back and they greet each other their formalities and greetings. Wakatoshi apologizes for being early. Kiyoomi says he doesn’t mind (he doesn’t, really, he’s even a bit in love) and gestures him to come inside. Kiyoomi stares at his broad shoulders and the way he carries himself, confident and proud.

Kiyoomi offers him tea. Wakatoshi agrees and sits politely and quietly by the kitchen table, looking around with bright eyes, his familiar neutral expression replaced with wide-eyed curiosity. Kiyoomi wonders if his shaking hands holding the mugs are normal.

And so, it begins.

Kiyoomi asks him questions. Wakatoshi answers with a low voice, answering them quickly and shortly. Sometimes, Wakatoshi takes a long pause before answering, eyes focused on the table as his brows furrow, as if in deep thought and answering Kiyoomi is like an entrance exam. Kiyoomi turns his head to the side, hoping that it hides his smile.

Wakatoshi doesn’t complain about Kiyoomi’s questions. All he does is look into Kiyoomi’s eyes, maybe look at the floor instead, and then answer him. His fingers tap gently against the table and Kiyoomi focuses his gaze on them. His fingers are long and thick, yet there’s a certain kind of softness and gentleness in the way he sets them down the table, on the way he taps his fingers.

Kiyoomi thinks they spent an hour just talking and answering questions and he bows in apology towards Wakatoshi towards the end. “I’m sorry,” he says, fingers fiddling with his tiny hoop earring and Wakatoshi’s eyes follow the movement. “I didn’t take notice of the time. I apologize if you had any plans today.”

“It’s okay,” Wakatoshi nods in understanding. “If I were looking for a roommate, I’d ask a lot of questions, too. And don’t worry, I cleared my schedule today for this.”

Kiyoomi has definitely made up his mind and heart. He fiddles with his earring and stares at the floor with concentration. (We say concentration but in actuality, Kiyoomi’s just avoiding Wakatoshi’s eyes—feeling a little shy, Kiyoomi?)

“One room has a wonderful view of the city, like windows for walls,” Kiyoomi says softly and looks at Wakatoshi just to see him already looking at him. His eyes are dark, yet he looks at Kiyoomi with certainty. Kiyoomi takes a deep breath and clears his throat. “And the other is an office type, with small windows. You can choose whatever you like.”

Wakatoshi smiles at him, slow and small, like a flower blooming in slow-motion. It isn’t the first time, but it certainly feels like it is, with the way Kiyoomi’s breath hitches in his throat and his fingers freeze in playing with his earring.

Kiyoomi thinks to himself: _you asked for this, stand by your decision_.

Ushijima Wakatoshi moves in swiftly and quickly. He moves in three days after the ‘interview’, standing outside of Kiyoomi’s apartment with his gym bag and two suitcases. He chooses the ‘office type’ room even when Kiyoomi suggests him to take the one with the beautiful view.

“I don’t mind,” Wakatoshi shrugs when Kiyoomi asks why, standing by his bedroom door. Wakatoshi’s looking around with eyes a little bit wide. “You mentioned of a balcony. That’s enough for me. And in the interview, you said you often like looking at sunsets.”

Kiyoomi almost falls out of balance. Wakatoshi remembers that. Kiyoomi had offhandedly asked him whether he liked sunsets and sunrises more; it was just a random thing Kiyoomi asked to know him a little more.

(“Sunrises,” Wakatoshi answered after a small pause. “I prefer morning jogs and watching the sunrise.”

“I see,” Kiyoomi had nodded in understanding. “I’m more of a sunset person. The view is beautiful to me.”)

“Oh,” he mumbles. “I didn’t think of that.”

Wakatoshi turns to him and smiles gently. He’s been doing that a lot lately, around Kiyoomi.

Ushijima Wakatoshi moves in swiftly and quickly, but his furniture doesn’t. It takes them a week, with their overlapping schedules and hectic training. On a Sunday, where they both have day offs, Wakatoshi foregoes his usual personal training and spends the day arranging his room and thanking Kiyoomi.

“What are you thanking me for?” Kiyoomi asks, mask pulled up to his face as he holds a cleaning brush in hand. Wakatoshi’s by the corner of his room, wearing the same thing. However, he has a sponge in hand.

“For letting me be your roommate,” Wakatoshi says and Kiyoomi looks at him in time to see him bow deeply. “Let’s take care of each other, Kiyoomi-san.”

Kiyoomi almost drops the brush in his hand and clears his throat, feeling his face warm up. “Of course,” he says and faces the wall. “And Kiyoomi is fine.”

“I see,” Wakatoshi answers him and there’s footsteps and the sloshing of water. “Then Wakatoshi is fine, too.”

Kiyoomi looks at the wall in front of him and doesn’t stop the grin that forms underneath his mask.

Living with Ushijima Wakatoshi goes like this: it’s almost like living alone. Except Kiyoomi spends his day looking at dark olive eyes and at a broad back and there’s always a low voice that asks him, “how was your day?”

It’s like this: Wakatoshi is quiet yet he listens a lot. Kiyoomi finds this endearing. Wakatoshi is a man of few words yet his eyes are attentive, and they listen whenever Kiyoomi talks. Kiyoomi likes to think that this doesn’t make his stomach do weird jumps and for his chest to tighten a little bit.

(Kiyoomi also likes to pretend that these weird stuff—stomach in knots, chest in a circus—haven’t been happening since middle school.)

(Ushijima Wakatoshi is still so beautiful, through the years.)

It’s like this: Kiyoomi has grown used to heavy footsteps and the soft opening and closing of the door in the early mornings. When he’s showered and ready to start the day, Wakatoshi is ready too—hair a bit wet after showering, sweatpants hanging low on his waist. Sometimes, they do rock paper and scissors on who’s going to make breakfast. Kiyoomi pretends that he isn’t staring at Wakatoshi’s body and Wakatoshi doesn’t say anything. Kiyoomi hopes he doesn’t notice.

It’s like this: Wakatoshi loves listening to old Japanese pop. Calls it “city pop of the 80s”. Kiyoomi is amused and intrigued. On their TV, Wakatoshi plays his playlist titled **CITY POP** and smiles at Kiyoomi the whole time. In the middle of the songs, Wakatoshi would start the conversation, about the artist, what the song is about, and small details of the song. In the middle of the songs, Wakatoshi’s cheeks high and eyes bright, Kiyoomi would stare at him and has to force himself to look at the TV instead. Kiyoomi has the uncomfortable feeling of wanting to dance.

It’s also like this: Sakusa Kiyoomi feels like he’s in middle school all over again. Ushijima Wakatoshi is handsome and nice and polite and clean and beautiful. Kiyoomi thinks he can’t handle this any longer.

It happens, after two months of them living together.

Kiyoomi comes home a little late, a little disgruntled. When he opens the door, Wakatoshi is by the kitchen, making dinner. They both say their _hello_ ’s and _hi_ ’s before Kiyoomi zooms into the bathroom, relaxing underneath the warm water and the familiar space.

Today is a bit too tough. Kiyoomi’s glad he’s home now.

He joins Wakatoshi for dinner, the other already sitting by the table and looking through his phone.

“Hi,” Kiyoomi greets him and smiles when Wakatoshi looks up from his phone and locks it, placing it screen down. “Thank you for cooking tonight.”

Wakatoshi shrugs and gestures to the meal. “We agreed on rules, Kiyoomi. I don’t mind.”

They begin eating and Kiyoomi dominates the conversation with questions of his day and stories of his. Wakatoshi’s answers are short and low, yet he always looks up to meet Kiyoomi’s eyes and even asks him questions about his day.

Kiyoomi has realized something about himself: he’s a little talkative. He doesn’t know where it came from, but it scares him a little. How easily it’s been to come home and talk about his day with Wakatoshi. How easy it’s been to sit down on the couch with Wakatoshi, remembering the details he’s seen for today, talking about the stupidity of Miya Atsumu, talking about Hinata Shoyou’s happiness. How easy it’s been to let the words flow out of his mouth, even when Wakatoshi’s answers are soft and short.

So, really, Kiyoomi is a little startled when Wakatoshi speaks up. “Kiyoomi,” he starts, eyes on the table, brows furrowed and Kiyoomi sits up a little in alarm. He gives Wakatoshi time to think, horrendous ideas forming in his mind. _Mold? He’s leaving? I’m too noisy? Rats? Insects?_

“I think,” Wakatoshi begins and Kiyoomi unconsciously leans forward towards him. “I think the apartment is haunted.”

Kiyoomi stares at Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi stares back.

Kiyoomi leans back with a huff and quite literally feels his shoulders sag in relief. “Oh.”

Wakatoshi widens his eyes a little in shock and Kiyoomi doesn’t even have the energy to laugh at the way he looks, eyes wide yet brows furrowed. “Oh? Kiyoomi, there is a ghost in our living room.”

Kiyoomi takes a sip of his water. “It’s okay, Wakatoshi. Did they harm you?”

This time, he smiles at the wide array of emotions that goes through Wakatoshi’s face. “Well,” he frowns and leans back against his seat. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then we have no problem here, Wakatoshi,” Kiyoomi reassures him. “Maybe the ghost is nice.”

Wakatoshi looks at him. Kiyoomi smiles at him. Wakatoshi frowns again but then he nods slowly. “All right,” he says. “Maybe they are.”

Kiyoomi thinks his feelings never really left. If we were going to be honest here, we all know they never really left.

Kiyoomi had met Wakatoshi on a public restroom, had seen him put his hankie with damp side in inside his pocket, had locked eyes with him, and decided that they’d have a small, church wedding.

The thought never really left. The feelings never really left.

At most, Kiyoomi’s feelings just get bigger and bigger, as he spends more time with Wakatoshi and—realizes, finds out more about him.

Like the way Wakatoshi snickers when he laughs, a rough sound at the back of his throat, hand coming up to cover his mouth, eyes closed as he does, a soft and twinkling sound ringing in Kiyoomi’s heart

or

the way Wakatoshi cooks his rice with more water and usually, Kiyoomi would get annoyed by it, but he’s grown used to the way it tastes, the way it looks, and the way Wakatoshi looks at the rice, smiling and content

or

the way Wakatoshi sometimes sits on the floor by the living room, going through his phone, earphones in, or reading a book, looking up just to smile at Kiyoomi

or

the way Wakatoshi is always so eager and excited to clean the apartment with Kiyoomi, even if they do it on their only rest day; eyes sparkling and hands quick to take the cleaning supplies

or

the way Wakatoshi had suggested that they buy their cleaning supplies alternatively, so they can use their favorites respectively. Kiyoomi had looked at him like he was the only man in the world

or

the way Wakatoshi has gotten comfortable with Kiyoomi; the way he sings in the kitchen, low and soft; the way he sings in the living room, eyes focused on the TV, softly singing along to lyric videos; the way he sings in the bathroom, deep and enticing

or

the way Wakatoshi often works out in his room, going out for barely a minute to refill his water bottle and nodding at Kiyoomi, sitting at the kitchen table, shirtless and boxers low on his waist

or

the way Wakatoshi smiles and nods at Kiyoomi’s stories, not an ounce of annoyance in his face even when Kiyoomi rambles a bit too much

Okay, yeah. Kiyoomi realizes. Maybe he still has feelings left. (Told you, Kiyoomi.)

He’s all alone in the apartment, Wakatoshi’s out running errands. Kiyoomi sits on their couch and stares at the TV screen, open yet muted. Maybe Kiyoomi should watch a movie. Or maybe a volleyball match.

Something brushes the back of his neck. Subtle yet cold, making him shiver violently and for all the hairs in his arms to stand.

Kiyoomi sits up abruptly and looks behind him.

Nothing.

 _What the fuck_.

There’s a thud on the floor. Right in front of him.

Kiyoomi stands up.

“Are you the ghost?” he croaks out, the TV now flashing neon images because of a commercial. Kiyoomi feels like he’s meeting his death.

There’s a thud on the floor again, except this time, it’s softer. Kiyoomi feels like fainting.

“Sorry,” he croaks out instead and puts a hand on his throat. “I—Wakatoshi told me about you. You can stay.”

Another thud. Kiyoomi is definitely gonna faint.

He sits back down on the couch and falls asleep.

(We wonder if Kiyoomi is gonna complain to the higher ups about this. The narrator does not have any knowledge of said apartment ghost. Narrator also is not reliable for apartment ghost.)

Kiyoomi is okay and he’s really fucking okay, okay, thanks for fucking asking.

“Damn,” Atsumu raises his hands in defense and looks around him with wide eyes. “Just asked how your day was going, man, jeez.”

Kiyoomi stares at his shoes and wonders if Wakatoshi was right or maybe Kiyoomi was just losing his mind last night.

Kiyoomi and Wakatoshi’s apartment is _not_ haunted.

Wakatoshi stares at Kiyoomi. “I see you’ve met her,” Wakatoshi says and Kiyoomi turns back to cutting out tomatoes, aggressively cutting said tomatoes.

“No, I did not,” Kiyoomi cuts the tomato a bit too harshly and the sound of the knife against the cutting board echoes longer than he thought. “Because she doesn’t exist. Also ‘her’?”

Wakatoshi doesn’t answer him quickly. Kiyoomi had successfully finished up in cutting a tomato. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” Wakatoshi says instead. “And I think the ghost is a girl because she seems nice.”

A soft breeze passes through them. Kiyoomi wouldn’t have acknowledged it if Wakatoshi hadn’t let out a noise of surprise.

Kiyoomi begins cooking. He wonders if this is all Wakatoshi’s fault.

“Okay,” he breathes out, focusing on the sizzling and the slight popping. “Our apartment is haunted.”

Wakatoshi doesn’t answer him but the silence he gives him is probably louder than anything else.

Halfway through their dinner, Wakatoshi starts a conversation again. Kiyoomi wonders if Wakatoshi starting a conversation is a sign of bad news.

“Also,” Wakatoshi starts and Kiyoomi looks up from his rice to look at him. Wakatoshi’s eyes are instantly on his.

(This is something Kiyoomi has also noticed: whenever they talk, Wakatoshi makes it a mission to look at Kiyoomi in the eyes, even when he avoids it. When Kiyoomi looks back at him, his eyes are still looking into his. Kiyoomi wonders if his blush is as noticeable as it feels.)

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi mumbles.

“Regarding the cleaning supplies,” he starts and Kiyoomi raises a brow. “I know we talked about alternating the brands, but I’ve noticed that I love your brand more. I think I’ll buy more of that brand.”

Kiyoomi wonders if this is what a love confession sounds like.

Here are the top three moments of Kiyoomi and Wakatoshi and their apartment ghost:

(Do note that these happened consecutively. The studio is not aware of these events. That being said.)

**THIRD PLACE:**

Today marks three months of Ushijima Wakatoshi living in the apartment, living with Sakusa Kiyoomi. It’s been a peaceful and joyful experience, if Wakatoshi was being honest. He’d known Kiyoomi for years, since middle school, and if he were being honest, their first meeting was a bit strange to Wakatoshi—the way Kiyoomi had looked at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. Wakatoshi doesn’t know if it was too hot inside the bathroom for him.

(if we were being honest, Kiyoomi’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks were—they—it sparked something inside Wakatoshi. The way it was vastly different in the way Kiyoomi looks in matches or in general. How his impression of Kiyoomi changed, how, previously, people told him about Kiyoomi and said he was… scary, unapproachable. Yet, in that moment, that day in the bathroom, Wakatoshi realized that Sakusa Kiyoomi was…

Sakusa Kiyoomi was… cute.)

Wakatoshi blinks up at his ceiling. Not even a minute ago, his phone chimes at him. **4:31 AM**. He should be getting up now, should be getting ready for his early morning jog. He clears his throat and sits up, rubbing at his eyes. Was thinking of your ‘rival’ of a roommate once you wake up weird? Oh well.

Oh well.

Wakatoshi starts his day normally. He splashes his face with cold water, brushes his teeth, stares at his hair for a moment, debate if he should get a haircut, and then change into his usual jogging clothes. Then, he goes outside his room, spares a glance at Kiyoomi’s closed bedroom door, and leaves.

The day starts normally. His morning jog is usually normal and uneventful. Wakatoshi’s earphones blast Nicki Minaj and Beyoncé in his ears. His form is perfect and immaculate, and he passes by still-closed shops and restaurants, reading through various posters and ads, the morning air chilly and soft against his cheeks. He passes by one poster and he pauses in his jog, reading it. It’s in front of a 7/11 store. It’s a poster about Clorox.

Wakatoshi blinks. He doesn’t really know why he’s reading it; he already knows everything about it. Kills all germs. Kills Aedes aegypti. Kills Aedes albopictus mosquitos. Safe for use on hardwood, sealed granite, and stainless steel.

Wakatoshi blinks. He can hear Kiyoomi reading out the back of the Clorox. He blinks again.

He clears his throat and shakes his head. The thought of thinking about Kiyoomi is making him feel…weird. Weird, weird, weird.

 _What a weird word_ , Wakatoshi thinks instead. He tries not to think of curly hair and pink lips and doe eyes and—wait. Wakatoshi abruptly halts in jogging and almost bumps into an angry businessman. He bows in apology. Beyoncé sings of being drunk and in love.

_Doe eyes?!_

Wakatoshi stares at the ground and thinks. Yellows and pinks color the sky and he looks up. He imagines what it would be like to jog with Kiyoomi, watching the sunrise with him. Wakatoshi watches the sunrise, stares at the enticing mix of colors and the warmth of the approaching sun. Wakatoshi watches and watches.

Wait.

Watching the sunrise with _Kiyoomi_?

Wakatoshi doesn’t finish his jog. He walks back to their apartment, confused and with furrowed brows. He stands inside the elevator, staring at the buttons. He imagines what it would be like to hold Kiyoomi’s hand.

Wakatoshi stares at their apartment door. He’s home thirty minutes earlier than usual. The apartment is still so quiet, yet sunlight and warmth floods their home and he wonders if he’s okay, maybe he’s just feeling sick. He looks at Kiyoomi’s closed bedroom door and feels a slight pinch at his chest.

Wakatoshi ignores it and takes a shower.

Maybe he’ll feel better.

Wakatoshi does _not_ feel better. He’s standing in the middle of their kitchen, waiting for his coffee and he’s experiencing too many thoughts. He wonders what it’s like to be with Sakusa Kiyoomi.

Wakatoshi jumps out of his stance when two things happen: the coffee makers beeps and then, one of their chairs scratch against the floor. Wakatoshi stands up even taller in alarm and shock and looks around. He’s the only one here.

“Um,” he says out loud. He looks at the misplaced chair by their table and wonders if Kiyoomi’s playing a sick joke on him. Was he already awake?

“Kiyoomi?” he asks then. Silence answers him. Wakatoshi runs to the counter and leans back on it, looking around with wide eyes.

“Ghost?” he whispers this then, hands tightly gripping on the counter. The chair moves a little bit then and Wakatoshi closes his eyes in fear. He’s about to fucking die.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers then and waits for death to be swift.

“Waka?”

Wakatoshi gasps and opens his eyes. Standing in front of him is Kiyoomi, wearing an oversized hoodie and rubbing at his eyes sleepily. Wakatoshi wants to hug him in relief.

“Hello,” he says gruffly and stands up.

Kiyoomi looks at him. Wakatoshi looks back. Kiyoomi’s stare turns into a state of confusion.

“Okay,” he yawns a little. “I’m gonna sit on the couch.”

Wakatoshi nods and says nothing. His eyes follow Kiyoomi’s figure—soft and delicate, engulfed in his black hoodie. His hair was messy, too, cute in a messy way. He was wearing grey socks.

A chilly breeze brushes past him.

 _Crush_ , a girl voice whispers and Wakatoshi almost falls down in shock.

 _Kiss him_.

Holy fuck. “Holy fuck,” Wakatoshi says. The chair moves a bit again.

Wakatoshi turns around to face the counter and grips at it tightly. He takes a deep breath and looks down at the coffee maker. He has a fucking crush on Sakusa Kiyoomi.

And their apartment ghost had to tell him about.

“Fuck,” Wakatoshi stares into his coffee cup. The chair moves a bit again. “Fuck.”

We think this is more than the apartment ghost.

(Rest assured, Kiyoomi does not know of Wakatoshi’s previous dilemma. Unfortunately.)

Well! That was a bit of a ride, wasn’t it? Don’t worry, there’s still more stories to come. And running in on second place:

**SECOND PLACE:**

Kiyoomi’s book is missing. And he shouldn’t even be worrying about it too much because a family friend gave it to him, but he started reading it last week and it piqued his interest quite a bit. Admittedly, Kiyoomi had been a bit offended and angry at the book itself: What To Say When You Talk To Yourself. He’d been a little offended, reading the title and furrowing his brows. To say the least, he threw it at his bookshelf, discovered it again when he and Wakatoshi were cleaning, and decided to read it just for the heck of it.

Kiyoomi is a bit ashamed to know that he’s getting a little interested in it. 

So, now: where the hell is Kiyoomi’s book?

Kiyoomi sighs in frustration and runs a hand through his hair as he looks around his room. He’d almost pulled out every single book of his yet still, nada, zero. He’d even looked through his gym bags, maybe he’d bought it at training, even when he doesn’t. The living room?

Kiyoomi looks out from his opened bedroom door and walks out with a stomp. He’s quick to eye the living room with narrowed eyes, hoping to catch sight of the book’s familiar cover. Kiyoomi lets his head down in frustration, letting out a matching groan.

Fine. Guess Kiyoomi has to take the desperate measures.

He takes out his phone from his short pocket and opens his messages with Wakatoshi.

**wakatoshi. have you seen my book,**

**it’s titled**

**“what to say when you talk to your self”**

Kiyoomi closes his eyes and sighs loudly. “Embarrassing,” he mutters to himself. He’s quick to pocket back his phone and then covers his face with his hands, groaning loudly. Where the hell is his damn book?

The speed that Kiyoomi exhibits when his phone vibrates should be kept as a secret. Kiyoomi is not rushing to look at Wakatoshi’s reply, no.

**Ah. Very interesting book. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen it. I’m sorry Kiyoomi.**

Kiyoomi almost lets out a sob of frustration.

Someone _pssts_ at him. He freezes, looking at his screen. He’s all alone in the apartment. Wakatoshi’s out again, doing his usual grocery trips. Maybe Kiyoomi’s just going crazy. Yeah.

_Psst._

“Oh my gosh,” Kiyoomi breathes out and looks around in panic. There’s this sense of—a feeling, like someone is—like someone’s—

Like someone’s watching him.

He can feel it, a bit too strongly and a bit too much. The sense of eyes on him, the way the air has dropped down, goosebumps rising against his skin. The terror and velocity of a sharp gust of wind passing by him, making him gasp and to turn his head at the side, hands coming up to cup his cheeks.

He’s going to die.

When he turned his head, he’s left to stare at the closed bedroom door of Wakatoshi. He feels that maybe, if he stares and stares, avoids everything for now, maybe it’ll go away. Wakatoshi will come home and they can forget about this.

It’s the sound that gets to Kiyoomi.

The rapidly increasing in size and volume of whispers around him, the sharp gusts of wind as he brings his hands up to his ears instead, closing his eyes in terror. His body sways against the harsh gusts of wind yet he tries to stay still, curling against himself.

 _Oh god_. He can still hear them.

_sorrysorrysorrysorryimsorrysorrysorryimsorryimsorryimsorryIMSORRYIMSORRYSORRYSORRYSORRYIMSORRYIMSORRY **IMSORRYSORRYIMSORRY**_

It vanishes suddenly and Kiyoomi lets out a whimper, hands tightening around his ears and he hesitantly opens his eyes. He knows it’s a mistake.

He sees it. The slow turning of Wakatoshi’s doorknob. The silence of the apartment deafening yet loud, the squeak and turn of the doorknob against the wood. The squeaking of the wood as it slowly opens.

Kiyoomi has never heard it creak and squeak like that before. Has never heard it when Wakatoshi opens it, gentle and quiet.

A whimper falls out of Kiyoomi’s lips as he stares at the opened bedroom door of Wakatoshi’s. He’s being pushed by strong wind. Towards the direction of Wakatoshi’s bedroom.

This is how Sakusa Kiyoomi dies: possessed and killed inside his apartment; inside his longtime rival, crush and roommate, Ushijima Wakatoshi’s bedroom. His body will be bent in impossible ways, eyes rolled back and tongue out. Maybe his arms will be bent sideways and backwards. Maybe the ghost will spare him and lay him on Wakatoshi’s bed, body decomposing and grey, blue veins matching his eyes as blood and vomit spews out his grey and purple mouth. Legs tucked underneath him, twisted in gruesome ways. Maybe his blood will be written on the walls.

**IN LOVE WITH YOUR ROOMMATE OF A RIVAL? NO WORRIES! GET POSSESSED!**

Kiyoomi lets himself be pushed into the direction of Wakatoshi’s bedroom. If this is how he dies, so be it. He closes his eyes and lets his feet and the wind carry him there. He starts praying. He starts praying for his family. He starts praying for Black Jackals. He starts praying for Wakatoshi.

_God, if I get killed here, please don’t let Wakatoshi find me. I don’t want him to find my dead body._

Screams and whispers cloud his ears. He follows alongside them. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Someone’s tapping on his arm. Kiyoomi opens his eyes and he’s inside Wakatoshi’s bedroom, in front of his bed. The screams quiet down. The whispers disappear. The tapping on his arms disappear and he’s left with a scarily cold rush of wind and everything—everything is quiet.

Kiyoomi waits for death. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It should probably scare him, how he’s so accepting to accept it.

It doesn’t come.

Kiyoomi opens his eyes again after a decade long. Everything is quiet. Everything is calm. There’s no one screaming or whispering at him. The temperature around him is normal. No one’s tapping on his arm. He looks down at Wakatoshi’s bed.

**WHAT TO SAY WHEN YOU TALK TO YOUR SELF**

The contrasting red against white of the novel’s cover shouts at Kiyoomi.

This time, when a soft _I’m sorry_ echoes in Kiyoomi’s ears, he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t blink. He stares at the novel, laying innocently on Wakatoshi’s bed.

Kiyoomi finishes the ghost’s sentence for her. _I’m sorry for putting it there_.

Wakatoshi finds Kiyoomi in the dark, sitting on the couch, staring on their blank and turned off TV. He doesn’t flinch when Wakatoshi opens the lights. He doesn’t say anything when Wakatoshi says hi.

Wakatoshi’s shower is quick, his hands rapidly scrubbing at his body and there’s probably shampoo left on his hair as he changes into his comfy clothes and sits next to Kiyoomi on the couch. Kiyoomi moves from the weight of Wakatoshi’s body and he turns to him. Wakatoshi frowns at the quivering of Kiyoomi’s lips and his blank stare.

“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi says lowly, unconsciously moving closer to him. “Are you okay?”

Kiyoomi sniffles, loud and sharp and it makes Wakatoshi jump a little. “Yeah.”

Wakatoshi thinks he’s lying. He looks at the coffee table and sees a book. “Oh, I see you found your book.”

Kiyoomi rapidly blinks and Wakatoshi looks at him in alarm. “I did,” he says absently and blinks. Wakatoshi moves closer until their thighs touch. “I found it.”

Kiyoomi leans forward and bumps his forehead against Wakatoshi’s shoulder gently. Wakatoshi takes a deep breathe. “Welcome home, Wakatoshi,” Kiyoomi whispers.

Wakatoshi stays quiet and taps his index finger against Kiyoomi’s cold wrist.

Ah. We hope everyone’s staying safe. Rest assured, Kiyoomi is all right and okay. Anyways. Let’s move on to the reigning champion!

**Kiyoomi and Wakatoshi and their apartment ghost: CHAMPION MOMENT:**

Kiyoomi and Wakatoshi are in the kitchen. They’re both making dinner, each doing their own thing, be it cooking rice, cutting up vegetables and fruits, voices quiet and soft between them. Wakatoshi had connected his phone to the TV again, old Japanese pop music playing loudly from the living room. As usual, Kiyoomi dominates the conversation. Kiyoomi thinks today is a good day, Wakatoshi is closer than usual and he even makes jokes. Kiyoomi thinks this is a beautiful start.

“And, by the way,” Kiyoomi continues his story, eyes focused on the knife he’s holding. “While we were practicing, Shoyou-kun talked about your setter—Kageyama-kun, right?—and I don’t know. It kinda triggered Atsumu and then there was, like, weird tension around us and it was so annoying. We had to do a new regime that Bokuto thought of and so it was even harder and—”

“New regime? Are you guys having a new team strategy?”

“Strategy?” Kiyoomi continues on, “I don’t think so. We’re doing the—”

Kiyoomi’s eyes narrow and he looks away from the knife so quick to glare at Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi’s looking at him with a small grin that it almost makes Kiyoomi falter. “Harhar,” Kiyoomi laughs mockingly. “Nice try, Wakatoshi. You’re still my rival, you’re not getting any information from me.”

“Ah, dang it,” Wakatoshi says teasingly and leans against the counter, looking at Kiyoomi still with those dark yet gentle eyes. “I thought I had you.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and moves to the stove. “You’re abusing our friendship, Wakatoshi. Taking advantage of our closeness, huh?”

“I kid, I kid,” Wakatoshi chuckles and moves somewhere and Kiyoomi hums. He’s staring at the stove now, about to cook when—the music suddenly stops.

“Waka?” he calls out, checking the temperature. “Why’d you stop?” It was his favorite song, too.

Silence answers him and he furrows his brows. When he doesn’t hear an answer, he turns around to see Wakatoshi standing behind him, eyes wide yet an expression of fear etched on his face. He feels his stomach drop.

 _Oh, god. Not again_.

“Wakatoshi?” he whispers and drops everything he’s holding. He walks closer and stands alongside Wakatoshi and looks at the now turned off TV. He feels a thunderstorm inside his stomach.

“It turned off.” Wakatoshi whispers gruffly, eyes focused on the screen. “I saw it turn off. I didn’t turn it off, Kiyoomi, I swear.”

Kiyoomi blinks. He wonders if this is on purpose. He stands beside Wakatoshi and tries to—focus on breathing. He breathes at the same time as Wakatoshi. They both stare at the black screen.

It flashes open and we’ll spare you all the details. Did Wakatoshi and Kiyoomi scream? Probably. Did they almost shit their pants? Hm, more or less.

But we won’t spare you this, our dear readers:

Wakatoshi’s hand squeezes against his and Kiyoomi realizes with a start that they’re both holding hands, shaking and sweaty. I’m in Love by Tomoko Aran plays mysteriously on the TV. Of course.

Wakatoshi squeezes his hand again and Kiyoomi takes in a shaky breath. They look at each other and then down at their interlocked fingers. Kiyoomi doesn’t look away from their fingers but he can feel Wakatoshi’s eyes on him. He waits for Wakatoshi to let go. He doesn’t.

Kiyoomi wonders if that’s okay—to want to hold Wakatoshi’s hand; to look at their interlocked hands and think, _I want to hold his hand again._

Wakatoshi wonders if he should be thanking their apartment ghost.

Kiyoomi’s wrists are beautiful.

This is something Wakatoshi has noticed, after last night, after their encounter with their apartment ghost, after Wakatoshi had held Kiyoomi’s hand on instinct. After Wakatoshi had looked at their interlocked fingers and had to look away because Kiyoomi’s hand was beautiful and sweaty yet it fit so well against his.

His wrists were so pretty, too.

“Beautiful,” Wakatoshi mumbles, eyes focused on the ground and he furrows his brows.

“Wakatoshi-kun?” someone says behind him and Wakatoshi startles and turns to the person sitting beside him. Kageyama Tobio.

“Is something wrong?” Tobio asks him, eyes concerned, and head turned to him.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” Wakatoshi is quick to say, shaking his head. He wonders if that was weird. If he’s weird.

“Tobio,” he says suddenly and looks down at his wrists. “Have you…”

He trails off and wonders if this is the right thing to do.

Tobio doesn’t force it out of him. He sits beside him and waits.

“Have you ever looked at someone’s wrist and thought that it was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

“That’s the most I’ve heard you talk in a sentence,” Tobio says, shock lacing his words. Wakatoshi lets out a small smile at that. He rubs a thumb over his wrist and wonders what it would feel like to hold Kiyoomi’s wrist, to feel his pulse underneath his fingers, to have the courage to intertwine his fingers with his.

“And I think I have, I think,” Tobio answers quietly and Wakatoshi turns his head to look at him. Tobio’s looking at the court, eyes deep in thought. “Looked at someone’s wrist and…and thought they—they were beautiful, I mean.”

Wakatoshi mulls over Tobio’s stuttering words and bated breaths and looks down at his hands again. “Yeah?” he whispers, already thinking about Kiyoomi.

Wakatoshi wants to look at Kiyoomi and ask him, _hey, kiyoomi, what’s it like to fall in love?_

Wakatoshi wants to look at Kiyoomi and see the familiar blush, the wide eyes, he’d first saw when they met at the bathroom years ago.

Wakatoshi wants to look at Kiyoomi and kiss him.

Wakatoshi wonders if he should leave the apartment. Hey, what happens when you fall in love with your roommate who’s also your rival and your enemy in court? What happens when you think about your roommate and his doe eyes and his moles and how you just want to gently run your fingers against his floppy bangs, push them away from his eyes, especially when he’s cooking? What happens when you want to kiss his knuckles, his dry and sanitized palms from all the sanitizing and alcohol he’s been putting, yet they’re still your favorite hands to hold? What happens when you want to kiss your roommate?

Wakatoshi prides himself on being honest and real, so, when he comes home, it’s to a dark apartment and no Kiyoomi and he takes a deep breath. _This is your last day here, Wakatoshi_ , he thinks to himself, looking around the familiar living room and their kitchen. Well, Kiyoomi’s kitchen.

Wakatoshi doesn’t know if he can handle himself around Kiyoomi now; if he can handle himself looking at Kiyoomi and having to _not_ take him in his arms and—

Ah. Wakatoshi, you’re in too deep, aren’t you? Don’t worry, Wakatoshi. Everything will fall into place soon.

Wakatoshi doesn’t hear us, of course. After all, we’re just here to annoyingly narrate their story, even if we leave out some important parts (like: Wakatoshi giving Kiyoomi his Schweiden Adlers jacket—

The headlines were going crazy then! SAKUSA KIYOOMI OF MSBY BLACK JACKALS SEEN WEARING SCHWEIDEN ADLERS JACKET! BETRAYAL INSIDE COURT? READ MORE ON PAGE FOUR.

or, the time Kiyoomi had slipped out that he can read palms and Wakatoshi had excitedly given him his palm for him to read. Kiyoomi had held Wakatoshi’s wrist with burning cheeks and a stuttering voice. Reading palms had been very hard that day. [Kiyoomi isn’t even sure he knows how to read palms, actually.]

or, the time Wakatoshi had walked to the living room and saw Kiyoomi, fresh from the shower, hair wet and sticking to his forehead as he peels oranges with his hands. His skin was dewy and beautiful, and his lips, a soft pink color, were wet and shiny whenever his tongue darted out to swipe at his bottom lip, eyes dark and doting at Wakatoshi, hands stretched out to hand him a slice

Ah. Forgive us if we don’t talk about those parts much. Can you imagine what else we could be keeping?)

Wakatoshi blinks out of it when he hears keys on the front door and the slow turning of the knob and his breath hitches in his throat.

Kiyoomi walks in, a sigh already leaving his lips, trapped by his mask as he walks inside. He doesn’t notice Wakatoshi and absentmindedly takes off his shoes. He looks up and catches Wakatoshi’s stare.

“Hi,” he mumbles, raising a brow at him. Wakatoshi remains quiet.

There’s a decade of silence (a minute, actually) between them as Kiyoomi stands in front of Wakatoshi, silent and confused. It seems like he can’t move. Wakatoshi’s stare is deep and holds a lot of emotions—Kiyoomi feels like he did something wrong; like maybe Wakatoshi’s leaving, had found a new roommate, probably.

“I think about your wrists and how beautiful they are and how I wanna kiss them,” Wakatoshi blurts out and instantly wants to bury himself six feet deep. Kiyoomi stares at him and—falls back against the door.

“ _What_?”

“I understand if you don’t want me to be your roommate anymore,” Wakatoshi frowns deeply, looking down. His socked feet matches the color of their apartment floor. He’s gonna miss this apartment floor. “After yesterday, I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands and your collarbones and how pretty you are. I’m sorry, Kiyoomi.”

Kiyoomi wants to speak but he can’t. Wakatoshi looks so beautiful and small underneath the white lights. He blinks and realizes he needs to speak.

“I think about your hands, too,” Kiyoomi rushes out and grins underneath his mask when Wakatoshi lifts his head up quickly. They stare at each other and color floods their cheeks slowly as they continue to do so. Kiyoomi feels hot underneath his mask. Wakatoshi steps a little closer, a little more confident. Love and relief flood his chest, Kiyoomi’s doe eyes stare at him and he’s back to middle school—the high blush in Kiyoomi’s cheeks, the sparkle and brightness of his eyes, and maybe, his parted lips underneath the mask. Wakatoshi wants to kiss him.

“I also think about kissing you,” Wakatoshi says then, when he’s close enough, hands a little shaky. Kiyoomi pushes his back off the door and steps closer to Wakatoshi, their noses almost touching. He almost trips over his gym bag. But it’s okay, Kiyoomi, we got you.

Wakatoshi traces every detail of Kiyoomi’s face with his eyes and his hand twitches to take off Kiyoomi’s mask. Kiyoomi looks at him back, eyes calculated and challenging. There’s a hint of a smile in his eyes.

“So,” Kiyoomi mumbles underneath his mask and Wakatoshi smiles. “Kiss me then.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes are dark and wide, staring at Wakatoshi before he looks away. Red flies high on his cheeks, despite the mask, and Wakatoshi lets himself grin.

“All right,” he whispers and leans closer. His hands are shaking yet they manage to reach Kiyoomi’s face, cupping his jaw and rubbing a thumb on his cheek over the mask. Kiyoomi’s breath shudders and he looks back at Wakatoshi.

It’s slow and a little bit cinematic. How Wakatoshi’s fingers tremble and shake, pulling down Kiyoomi’s mask. How Kiyoomi’s cheeks bunch a little when he pulls it down, the soft tremble of his lips. How Kiyoomi’s eyes are wide and staring at Wakatoshi. How Wakatoshi focuses on his lips before his eyes turn back to Kiyoomi’s and it feels like forever as Wakatoshi’s fingers stay on his jaw, gentle and brushing against his skin. Kiyoomi closes his eyes and shudders underneath Wakatoshi’s gentle touch; the way his thumb brushes against the corner of his mouth; his slender fingers, warm beneath his jaw; the way Wakatoshi’s lips brush against his.

Kiyoomi could kiss Wakatoshi forever.

“You’re so silly,” Kiyoomi whispers out when Wakatoshi pulls away a little, lips still brushing against his. “Why wouldn’t I want you as my roommate anymore? Why do you think I chose you?”

Wakatoshi stares at him and there’s his gentle laugh that makes Kiyoomi’s cheeks heat up a little more. He leans closer and bumps his forehead against his. “You chose me?” Wakatoshi chuckles and Kiyoomi scrunches his nose. Wakatoshi kisses his nose. “I choose you, too, Kiyoomi.”

Kiyoomi stares at him, shocked and speechless, lips parted before he abruptly wraps his arms around Kiyoomi and buries his face onto Wakatoshi’s neck. Wakatoshi’s laugh is low and soft, arms coming up to wrap them around Kiyoomi.

“I like you,” Kiyoomi whispers hotly against Wakatoshi’s neck. Wakatoshi hums and Kiyoomi can feel Wakatoshi’s smile when his body shivers.

“I like you, too.”

“Just because we’re together doesn’t mean I’ll tell you our team strategies.”

“Don’t worry, Kiyoomi. I know.”

“. . .”

“. . .”

“I told you—I’m not telling you, don’t look at me like that!”

Kiyoomi knows his stance on luckiness and fate; has spent some countless times looking at his nails, deep in thought, thinking of his privilege and how he’s lucky to have everything, or anything, in his life. Kiyoomi has accepted his fate, had measured the lines of luckiness and growth, luckiness and destiny.

So, really, Kiyoomi shouldn’t be surprised when Motoya messages him one day, a simple and short **;) ;) ;) ;)**

Still, Kiyoomi looks outside his bedroom window in disdain and disgust. Sitting behind him, Wakatoshi presses a gentle kiss against Kiyoomi’s neck. His hands are around his waist and Kiyoomi sits comfortably between his legs. Wakatoshi presses another gentle kiss, at the dip of collarbones. Kiyoomi shudders.

Okay. Well, maybe Kiyoomi doesn’t look at the sky in disdain and disgust.

So. To make the long story short: tell your rival and enemy of a roommate that his wrists are pretty and maybe you’d get to kiss him, too.

**Author's Note:**

> hey thank u for reaching the end!! i hope it wasnt too rushed and confusing?? uwaah ushisaku was a ship i didnt expect to be writing abt but here we are......... i hope i did them justice.. i loved writing sakusa he's a nice boy. also i tried to make him being a germaphobe as serious as possible but i couldn't find any source regarding relationships so aahhh hope this was okay?? 
> 
> also while you're here, check out [forjusticeforpeace.carrd.co](https://forjusticeforpeace.carrd.co/) and [parasapinas.carrd.co](https://parasapinas.carrd.co/) (trans: for the philippines)! if u liked this fic it would mean a lot to me if you would sign/share petitions, donate if u can and help us out here!:) please fight for human rights! i love you
> 
> thank you for reading! [my twitter](https://twitter.com/bokkuns) and my [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/atsuaka) :D <3
> 
>  **[edit: oct 21]** someone [drew fanart based off the vibe of the fic](https://twitter.com/mixed_blessing/status/1313096682108850176) !!! T___T please please support the tweet I love it so so much I simply think clingy sakusa CRIES LOUDLY WAAAHH


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